Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 19

  ***

  I take a cab to the Snowden Hotel. It’s a mid-sized hotel downtown, the kind of place whose day has long since come and gone. The lobby doesn’t have any marble floors and the wood of the chairs and front desk is chipped and faded. The clerk is an old man who doesn’t wake up until I slap the bell inches from his ear.

  “Help you?” he asks.

  “I want a room.”

  “What’s that?” he reaches to his ear and fiddles with a hearing aid.

  “A room. I want a room.”

  “Any particular kind?”

  “Just so it has a bed,” I say.

  “And how long will you be staying?”

  “A couple of days.” In lieu of ID, I pass him a couple hundred-dollar bills. “Consider that a down payment.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The bellhop is a Mexican kid who barely speaks English. I give him a twenty to take my bags up to the third floor. The room is a lot smaller than the suite in the capital; everything fits into the one room. The bed is a double and not nearly so comfortable. Still, for my purposes, it’ll do.

  I sleep for a couple of hours before I roll out of bed to start my errands. There’s a lot I need to get done today, a different kind of shopping than yesterday. Instead of department stores with designer labels, I have to visit pawnshops.

  I didn’t buy all that jewelry just to feel like a princess. I knew I’d have to dump Blades’s credit cards, so I bought the jewelry to convert into cash. There’s a “cash for gold” place about every fifty feet these days, so it’s not hard to find a place to sell the jewelry. The clerk barely listens to my sob story about how I have to pawn Mommy and Daddy’s jewelry to pay for little Tommy’s dialysis. The clerk just writes me up a receipt for the amount they’ll give me, which isn’t nearly what I paid for it, but what I get makes up for the cash I’ve already spent, with a little extra. “That will have to do,” I say and then let her count out the money.

  With some of that cash I get a cab to take me to the south side. It’s not the safest place for a girl dressed in designer clothes, but I know a pawnbroker there. Amos Glendale doubles as a snitch, about who has fenced what. He’s supposed to turn over all of those items to the authorities, but he always keeps a little something for himself as a “commission.” I could have tried to trade the jewelry to Amos for what I want, but I figured I’d get a better deal from someone without a criminal record.

  Amos is about as old as I used to be, but the way he looks at me is just like the boy on the train. His face turns red and sweat forms on his bald head. I start to wonder if he’s going to have a heart attack in his own store.

  He shoves aside a magazine I’m sure is a Playboy. “Hi there,” he says and his voice actually cracks like he’s fourteen. Amos doesn’t get a lot of beautiful women in his line of work. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes you can,” I say. I strut up to the counter and then lean forward, until my lips brush against his ear. “I need to buy a gun.”

  “A g-g-gun?”

  “Yes,” I whisper into his ear. “A couple of them.”

  “Well, I, um—” He takes a deep breath to collect his nerve. “I have some guns in the case over there. Of course you’ll have to wait a couple of days—”

  “I want them now,” I say with a rich girl whine. I reach out with one hand and stick it down his shirt so I can feel his hairy man-boobs. “I heard you were the man to see about that.”

  Amos wheezes and his face turns purple. Now he will have a heart attack. “I-I-I guess a girl like you isn’t going to kill no one.”

  “That’s right. I just want to scare someone.”

  “Sure.” I let him go and leave him to pant for a minute or two. He clears his throat and then walks over to the glass counter with some of his handguns inside. “A little lady like you would probably be best off with this .25.”

  He takes a small black pistol out of the case. I pout at the sight of it. “It’s so small.”

  “You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”

  “Can’t you sell me a big gun?”

  He takes out a 9mm Beretta. It’s better, but still not a lot of stopping power. “Don’t you have anything bigger?”

  He scratches his head as he debates whether he should pull out the big guns. I lean forward on the counter so he gets a good look down my shirt. Like a trained puppy he does my bidding. “I do have some things in the back for special customers,” he says.

  He motions for me to follow him into the back room. He unlocks what’s supposed to be a janitor’s closet. In reality it’s an armory, with everything from pistols to an RPG launcher. I pick up an Uzi and point it at him. “This is more like it,” I say. The Uzi might not have much more stopping power than the Beretta, but it can fire a lot more bullets in a short amount of time.

  I point up to an AK-47 on the wall. “That looks cool. Can I try it?”

  “Um, well—” Amos’s head starts to turn red again as he debates whether or not to sell me an assault rifle. His dick wins out over his head and he takes down the gun. “You just be careful with that.”

  “I will.” The assault rifle looks ridiculous in my hands. Still, there’s nothing like holding a really large weapon to make you feel powerful. “This is great. How much is it?”

  He quotes me a price on the AK-47 and the Uzi. Along with the ammo, it’ll just about clean me out. Still, it’ll be worth it if I can get rid of Artie Luther and his gang. “So, paper or plastic?” he asks.

  ***

  He gives me a duffel bag free of charge to carry the weapons in. I carry them with me into a diner. Maybe it’s my recent brush with the good life, but the place looks filthy. The people aren’t any better. I laugh to myself at this. In just over a day I’ve become a snob.

  Another consequence of my brush with the good life is that I order a salad and iced tea. While I wait for the waitress to bring it, I read through the paper for anything on Blades’s murder. There’s nothing much, just the usual crap about an ongoing investigation and a lot of speculation about Blades’s ties to organized crime. As I suspected, the press runs it as a “gangland killing.” There’s nothing about the killer, no artist’s conception of my face. I sigh with relief.

  More shocking is the back page of the paper. I’m about to fold the paper up and start to pick at the wilted leaves they call a salad when I see a picture of me—the old me. It’s the obituary for Detective Steven James Fischer.

  As befits my life, most of the obit concerns my career. It lists my six commendations for valor and my three medals for bravery. A couple of my big arrests are listed as well. The end of it says, “Detective Fischer was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He is survived by his daughter Madison.”

  For the first time in a while I start to cry. It doesn’t say I was a good father, husband, or even friend. Only that I was a good cop. Madison’s name is given as an afterthought, just as she was when I was a man.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” the waitress asks.

  I wipe at my eyes and sniffle. “I’ll be fine,” I snap and summon some of that rich girl authority. I shove the salad back at her. “Send this back and bring me a cheeseburger and chili fries.”

  After the waitress has gone, I stare at my photo in the paper. It’s a good picture of me, taken a few years ago in my dress uniform. That’s the best way for people to remember Steve Fischer, I suppose. I never was much else, especially not a father.

  With a sigh I read the obit again. Beneath the last sentence is a paragraph that gives the funeral arrangements. I’m being put to rest tomorrow at the Memorial Gardens Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, people are encouraged to donate to the Fraternal Order of Police fund for fallen officers. That’s probably Maddy’s idea. Good girl, I think and then put the paper away.

  Chapter 37

  There’s not much more of a surreal experience than to attend your own funeral. I make sure to get to the cemetery late, after everyone else has taken their seats. With my
dyed hair, big sunglasses, and designer dress it’s unlikely anyone will recognize me, so long as I keep quiet and out of the way.

  I take a seat in the back, next to Jefferson. He immediately tries to look down my dress. I shift my seat over a couple of inches. I’d like to punch him in the throat, but that would draw too much attention to myself.

  Most of the people in attendance are cops or the family members of cops. I see Maddy in the front row; she leans on the shoulder of an older woman with red hair who must be Debbie. Jake and Tess sit next to them. I don’t see Grace anywhere. Does Debbie know about Grace? Has Maddy come out to her yet? I have no idea what Debbie’s stance on that would be. She might take it hard at first, but like me I figure she probably just wants Maddy to be happy.

  I hadn’t gone to church since my divorce, but there’s still a priest there to read some Bible verses for me. He stands next to a coffin that’s probably full of bricks since my body—such as it is—is in the back row. I doubt I’ve ever met the priest, which doesn’t discourage him when he talks about how brave and honorable I was. I feel a cold shiver at this and think of how I murdered Bobby Blades. Do any of the cops here know that his killer is right behind them?

  I should probably leave, but morbid curiosity keeps me in my seat. Jake of course delivers the eulogy. “There’s no one except my wife I ever loved more than Steve. He was the best friend anyone could hope for. Whenever I needed him, he was there. When my daughter was diagnosed with cancer, Steve came to visit her at the hospital every day.

  “As a police officer, there was no one with more tenacity, more guts than Steve. It didn’t matter if he were outnumbered a hundred-to-one; he wouldn’t let anything get in his way. This police force, this city, this whole damned world is going to be a lot worse off without him.

  “If Steve were still here, I’m sure he’d want us to continue the work he started, to clean up this city and make it safe for decent folk. I hope all of us here today strive to be as brave, as honorable, as good as Steve Fischer.”

  Like my obituary, Jake doesn’t say anything about me as a husband or father. Why should he? I was a complete failure on both counts. I watch the front row and try to see if Maddy or Debbie are crying. There’s no way to tell from back here. I doubt they are. Why should they be? They’re both better off without me.

  Neither of them says anything at my funeral. After Jake sits down, the honor guard fires a twenty-one-gun salute. They take the flag off my fake coffin and give it to Maddy. I can’t see her reaction to this, but she still doesn’t seem to be crying. Maybe she’s just being strong, like she figures I’d want. It’s not what I want. I want her to mourn me, to let out her pain, not keep it inside the way I always did.

  The thought occurs to me that I should run up to the coffin and tell everyone the truth, that Steve Fischer is still alive. Jake could back me up, tell them what Dr. Palmer found out. Except that he probably wouldn’t. He wouldn’t want to go public with this. He’d put an arm around me and then drag me off somewhere private to lecture me for being stupid. Meanwhile, Maddy would hate me for spoiling her father’s funeral. That is if she doesn’t already hate me for what Grace and I did.

  I do get up, but not to crash the funeral. Instead I slink off the way I came in to escape before Jefferson can proposition me. As I do, I notice another woman in a black dress and sunglasses under a tree. I need a moment to realize it’s Grace. We face each other and her brow furrows for a moment. “Stacey?”

  “Hi,” I say. I feel like a shy urchin again in Grace’s presence. Since my cover is already blown, I sit down beside her. “Shouldn’t you be over there with everyone else?”

  “Maddy thought it’d be better if it were just family and her dad’s friends.”

  “Oh. Did you tell her—?”

  “About us kissing? No. I chickened out. Pretty lousy, huh?”

  “Not as lousy as me. I’m sorry about stealing from the register. I can pay you back.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll just deduct it from your paycheck.” She looks me up and down. “You look good. What have you been up to?”

  “I, uh, came into a little money. You like it?”

  She fingers my shorter, darker hair. “You look gorgeous.” She smiles at me. “I knew there was a beautiful woman in there, underneath that tomboy.”

  “I thought you said I was a functional girl.”

  “That’s just what I told you. Salesmanship and all.”

  “I bet.” I smile back at her and resist the urge to kiss her again. “You look good too.”

  “You think so?”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You want to get out of here?”

  ***

  We take a cab back to Grace’s shop. I could have offered to take her to my hotel room, but then she’d know where it was and she might find the duffel bag of weapons I’ve hidden in the closet. Plus, Grace’s shop is a lot closer.

  She kisses me in the cab. It’s not as long or as deep as our first kiss, just something to set the mood. When she’s sure no one will notice, her hand burrows beneath my skirt. Again not enough to set me off, just a little teaser for what’s to come.

  Once we stop, I toss the driver a twenty and tell him to keep the change. Then Grace pulls me inside the shop, upstairs to the apartment. The front door isn’t even closed before she kisses me again. This one is like our first kiss in the kitchen.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers. “Did you miss me?”

  I think of the hot tub and on the train. “Yes.”

  She leads me into the bedroom, the one she and Maddy share. It occurs to me that I should stop, before I hurt Maddy even more, but I can’t. Instead I shed my clothes and leave them in a heap on the floor.

  I look down at my naked body. My face turns warm. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says with a grin, “I’ll teach you.”

  She lays me down on the bed and then starts to work her hands across my body. She demonstrates how as a woman I have a lot more sensitive areas than just between my legs. She massages my breasts, bites a nipple, and even runs her tongue along my midsection. Each time I gasp not from pain, but from the same pleasure as in the hot tub.

  I do the same to her as she did to me. My hands are clumsier, but they still seem to get the job done. It takes a little prodding before I can bring myself to touch her with my tongue. Her skin is salty from sweat, but the way she moans makes it worthwhile. “You’re a natural,” she says.

  Eventually we go inside each other. It’s a lot different than sex as a man. It’s not so violent; I don’t thrust to batter down her defenses to make myself come. This is a lot tenderer, even gentle. We’re partners in this, not combatants.

  Grace has enough experience that she strings me along for a half hour. That’s long enough for my clumsy hands to find the rhythm. We come at the same time, a pair of shrieks, followed by identical sighs. We pull our hands out and smear them on our stomachs. Grace licks my stomach again, to clean it up like a dog. I can’t bring myself to go that far just yet.

  She uses her cleaner hand to stroke my hair as she cuddles up against me. “You’re amazing,” she says. “It’s hard to believe that was your first time.”

  “Maybe I had a good teacher.”

  We fall asleep in each other’s arms. When I wake up, I look over at the clock and see it’s ten o’clock. I sit up with a start. Grace’s hands fumble to grab me and pull me back down. “Don’t go,” she says. “Maddy won’t come back tonight. She’s staying with her mom.”

  “I have to go,” I say. I stroke her hair and then kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

  That is if I survive.

  Chapter 38

  I take a cab back to the hotel to fetch my duffel bag. I pay the driver extra to make sure he takes a few shortcuts. By the time I’ve changed into something more appropria
te for a commando operation and grabbed the duffel bag, it’s eleven o’clock. Shit.

  The next cab driver I pay even more handsomely to get me near the warehouse Blades indicated. I can’t have him drop me off right in front of it. Not only would I risk someone on Lex’s crew might spot me, but also after I’m done here the cabbie might figure out I was responsible.

  Along the way I sneak a peek in the duffel bag. I can still turn back. I can have the cabbie drop me off at Grace’s shop and collapse into her arms. We can fuck and cuddle for the rest of the night. That’s certainly a better idea than to murder people in cold blood, isn’t it?

  Except I might never get another shot at Lex and his goons. To track them down again could take months or even years. Years I’ll spend in this body. I’ve already seen the changes in my personality. Every day I become more Stacey and lose more Steve. In six months or a year there might be nothing left of him, just a sweet young woman in love with her employer—her best friend’s lover. By then I won’t have the nerve to kill anyone.

  It has to be done tonight. If I survive, then I can go back to Grace. We can work something out, find a way to still be together and not hurt Maddy. How? Continue to see Grace behind Maddy’s back? Maybe I’m becoming Stacey more and more, but Maddy is still my daughter. I can’t betray her like this again.

  I take a few deep breaths to focus again on the task at hand. I’m not sure exactly what security Lex will have or what he’s even going to be doing, so I’ll have to figure out a way to take care of that once I get there.

  I could always take out my phone and call the police. Leave an anonymous tip that something big is going down at the warehouse. Except just like the night of the Lennox robbery, if I call my former comrades, one will probably call Lex and pass the word along. I could at least call Jake. Then I’d have a little backup. Look what happened the last time I went against Lex alone!

  No, I can’t involve Jake in this. It’s too dangerous. He’s already said his eulogy for me.